(Heaton/Rotheray)

You Can't Write A Novel From A Briefcase

You Can Write A Poem From A Trench

You Can Dream A Dream From A To B

But You Can't Catch A Bus From A Bench



You Don't Back A Horse Called Striding Snail

You Don't Name Your Boat Titanic II

So Why When I See Your Happy Smiling Face

Do I Always End Up Singing Little Blue



Little Blue, How Do You Do

Your Smile Looks Like Heaven

But Your Eyes Hold A Storm About To Brew

Little Blue

How Can A Flower So Pretty

Be So Laden Down With Dew

Little Blue



How Can A Flower So Pretty

Be So Laden Down With Dew

Little Blue



You Can't Build A Brewery On A Cemetery

You Can Build A Pub On A Church

And People Fall Quicker Than Buildings Do

You Have To Decide What Comes First



You Don't Call A Plane The Flying Roman

'Cause The Romans Always Walked And Never Flew

So Why When I See Your Happy Smiling Face

Do I Always End Up Singing Little Blue



Little Blue, How Do You Do

Your Smile Looks Like Heaven

But Your Eyes Hold A Storm About To Brew

Little Blue

How Can A Flower So Pretty

Be So Laden Down With Dew

Little Blue



Well Bukowski Wrote A Story From A Barstool

And Keats From The Top Of A Hill

So I'm Going To Save My Special Song For You

From A Grave Where It's Quiet And It's Chill



'Cause There's A Queue Of Clouds Assembled

On The Horizon Of Your Smile

When Most Think That You're Holding Back

I Know You're Holding Bile



Little Blue, How Do You Do

Your Smile Looks Like Heaven

But Your Eyes Hold A Storm About To Brew

Little Blue

How Can A Flower So Pretty

Be So Laden Down With Dew

Little Blue



How Can A Flower So Pretty

Be So Laden Down With Dew

Little Blue